


A Case of You

by FaunaFauna



Category: Tetsuwan Atom | Astro Boy
Genre: M/M, homoerotic organized crime, what's better than this. guys being dudes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-26
Updated: 2016-11-08
Packaged: 2018-07-23 13:41:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7465581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaunaFauna/pseuds/FaunaFauna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in the 1980 series. Skunk and his right-hand man Harry have an unconventional relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. As Constant as the Northern Star

**Author's Note:**

> This story is a remake of a work from 2009. It takes place in the canon of the 1980 Astro Boy series, particularly around Skunk's gang. Ox is the huge guy with the red blazer, Vito is the balding redhead with the beige pinstripe suit, and Harry is the little brunet guy who's seen as Skunk's right-hand man and driver most of the time. This began updates on FF.net but I wanted to back it up here, since later chapters get pretty sexual, and AO3 is far more liberal with that.

"Look, I don't think I'm gonna offend anybody in this room, but, like..."

"Like what?"

"Steven King's a little bitch. You can quote me on that." Ox slammed down his hand of cards, and put his fingers around his eyelids to make his eyes wider. "I'm an American! Clowns! I wear round glasses!"

Ox's voice seemed to echo throughout the old warehouse. Vito whined, "Calm down, man, you're too drunk to talk anything serious."

"I'm just a little stressed out, man..." Ox put his hands through his hair. "I'm not used to fuckin' up a heist."

Glass shattered in the other side of the makeshift living room. The men at the card table turned – some shaken and some still bleary from liquor – to see what had once been a half-empty bottle of Crown Royale shattered against the wall. Skunk Kusai lay blearily on the couch, now struggling to sit up.

"Nuns!" He howled. "Since when do nuns go to the goddamned bank?!"

Ox yelled back, "We shoulda just plowed through 'em!"

"Drive over a fucking nun? I'm not tryin' to jinx myself!" Skunk was trying to charge at Ox, but his intoxication made him look more like a sloppy hand puppet. The small designated gang driver Harry Pilat emerged from the adjacent kitchen, a former employee break room, holding a flimsy aluminium tray topped with small and slightly burned sponge cakes.

"Boss, your EZ Cakes are d-" They collided. Harry was knocked down, but Skunk remained on his feet, now kicking the tray away from himself as if it were on fire.

"Harry! Fuck! Stop doing random shit when I'm trying to work!"

The smaller man pushed himself off the ground. "Y-You're not working, you're getting wasted!"

"You keep talking like that and you'll be getting a punch in the dick, too!" Skunk spat as he strode over to the card table. At least he was distracted.

Harry massaged his temples, exhausted, while a few other men in the gang picked at the fallen sponge cakes like vultures. At least the EZ Mix wasn't going to waste. Not like he'd actually paid money for it.

The boss was a dick, but hey, he brought in the best money Harry had ever seen.

••••••••••••

"Do you need work?"

Skunk had been sitting at the counter of Cristallo's Bar and Grill, quiet and absorbed in his thoughts for well over an hour, until Harry passed by his spot yet again. Harry had been maybe 20 at the time, and he glanced up, almost shocked to hear a voice come out of the pile of trench coat and hat.

"...Yeah." Cleaning up after patrons didn't pay well. In that part of Metro City, a question like Skunk's wasn't followed by an invitation to flip burgers.

The shady, pale man seemed thrilled. "Whaddya lookin' for?"

"Nothing randy."

"You fine with fireworks?" Weapons. Harry nodded. He'd overheard things like this in the bar before.

The two were soon sitting side by side at the bar counter. Harry got a briefing on the "work" being offered – a painting heist – and knowing just who was sitting beside him was nothing less than a blast of anxiety.

"I-It's just kinda surprising, you know?" Harry kept fidgeting, wringing his chubby tan hands together. "I feel like I've been spotted by a talent scout. Th-they talk about what you do in here a lot."

Skunk smirked. "What do they say?"

"B-Bad things...good things, too. A hell of a lot of envy."

"Good, good. Means I'm still hot on the market."

"Hey! Pilat!" The bar manager started snapping his fingers, drawing closer to their spot at the counter. "The hell you doin' not on the fl-"

Harry heard the snap of something metal from the open part of Skunk's trench coat. The manager went cold, nodding silently and treading backwards. Harry would later find out it was a switchblade with a laser edge function.

Skunk turned back to Harry. "Looks like you're spoken for."

••••••••••••

The tension in the building had subsided, as Skunk and the guys had moved on to a round of poker. One of the new men was hooking up a cable TV, and a crowd of others had left the building in favour of a nearby cathouse. It was boring in the warehouse, sure, but a pleasant lull by the gang's standards.

Harry stood in the doorway of the kitchen, examining the scene: an aura of smoke hung over the poker table, coming from whatever substance of choice the guys had on them. The furniture, frankly, looked like shit. Grody secondhand couches and a thrift store rug made up the "living room", the poker table was found on the edge of the road, and someone had hung a tacky framed picture of a sunflower. Whoever brought it likely had the hope of livening up the room, but instead, it just looked like an amateur porn studio.

But the gang couldn't get too flagrant. All the furniture was intended to be thrown into the back of a truck if they needed to flee at the last minute. Harry knew that the boss had far nicer places to live somewhere, but they were secret to all _but_ the boss.

He almost wondered how a guy like Skunk, with the money he had, could stand to live in a musty old shipping facility.

"Hey! We're talkin' to you!" Someone's shouts from the table finally broke past Harry's thoughts. "Bring over the whiskey, midget!"

Harry forced a nod, retrieved the wide brown bottle from the cupboard, and hurried to the table. A man in a cabby hat shoved a glass in Harry's face, a wordless command to pour.

Annoyed, he poured. "I'm not the gang gofer, Kyosuke. You can do this yourself."

"We know you ain't. But anyone _not_ gettin' drunk has to help the ones who _are_."

"What bonehead came up with that?!"

"This bonehead," Skunk said with a point at himself, not taking his eyes off his cards. He swiped the whiskey out of Harry's hands, took a stiff drink, and then tossed his cards down onto the table.

A royal flush. The other guys at the table groaned loudly as Skunk, almost cackling, pulled the money on the table into his lap. Harry couldn't help at that moment but feel awe, watching the boss smugly count his winnings. He almost jumped with a start when Skunk suddenly turned to him.

"Hey, Harry, you good to drive?"

"M-Me? Yeah."

Skunk stood up, looking back at the table. "Guys, I need to run out for something. You gonna be fine without me for an hour?"

An assortment of muttered "yeah" and "sure" wafted from the table as the card game restarted. Skunk set a hand on Harry's shoulder, guiding him towards the warehouse's indoor parking area. Harry complied, walking with the boss, even though he had no idea what this incoming "something" was. At least they could get a breath of fresh air.

They took the van, a clunky and peeling yet unsuspecting-looking thing. Some assorted junk like spare uniforms, an old tripod, and a futon were thrown into the back, remnants of heists past. The futon had probably been once used as an impromptu floatation device. Once.

Harry's thoughts on past uses of the futon sent heat to his face. It wasn't until Skunk started angrily snapping his fingers in Harry's face that he realized he had been getting talked to.

"Shit, Harry, I told you to turn right here and you miss it! There's nobody else on the road! I thought you said you were good to drive."

"S-sorry, boss, I-"

Skunk was suddenly sounding calm, but still stern. "You don't have to apologize. I, uh, was trying to make this a surprise. I wanted to treat you."

Harry's pants felt tighter.

"I think there's another all night Ice Palace somewhere on Kingston. Try taking the next left."

Harry just about let go of the steering wheel while the pieces in his head finally clicked together. Sputtering, he shouted at Skunk, "You're taking me for ice cream?!"

"Not the tone I expected, but yeah," Skunk was sheepish but looked ready to bring the pain. "What the hell's your deal?"

"Th-th-this is the same thing we do when you wanna go f-fuck somewhere!"

"Sh...shit, I forgot."

"Forgot?! How drunk are you?! This- ah! Aah!" Harry was interrupted by Skunk angrily yanking on his ear.

"I fucked up, okay?! You don't have to tear me a new one over it!"

"Ow! _Merde_! I get it! Let g-go!" Harry flailed with one hand while shakily driving with the other. Skunk relinquished, sitting back in his seat with a huff. The car was quiet and awkward. Harry forgot to take the upcoming left but Skunk didn't care.

Skunk nervously cleared his throat. "You, uh...started feeling it, huh?"

A flustered nod. "...I'm half mast."

"I see." Skunk's hand returned to Harry, giving the younger man's crotch one good grope. "Take us to the...hmm, the riverfront tonight."

••••••••••••

Harry wasn't sure how much time had passed since they got to the riverside parking lot. The afterglows were almost as satisfying as the actual rutting. The two men were laying side by side on the old futon, with what clothing they still had on tousled, the smell of sweat and cum heavy in the back of the van. They passed a joint back and forth; Skunk had initially offered a spliff, but Harry balked at the idea of tobacco. The younger man felt like he was on another planet.

" _God_ was that good," he breathed. "F-Fuck the ice cream. If you wanna "treat" me, just drill me like that again."

"Been waitin' to get it on for days," Skunk sighed through a drag. He started to hand the joint off to Harry again, but Harry waved it away; he still had to drive them back. His small, tan hand landed on Skunk's chest and he began to absentmindedly trace Skunk's chest.

"...We've gotta get rid of this shitty futon."

"Mmm. Why?"

"We've gotten so much jizz on it. And I think we pushed it in the river once. It's probably a fuckin' biohazard."

Skunk suddenly sat up, disgusted, shoving Harry off the futon. He fell in a heap on some discarded nylon tarp, and blearily watched as Skunk shoved the futon out the truck doors. He could hear the click of a Zippo lighter while Skunk fumbled around outside. The sound of a futon being dropped. Skunk hissing cruses. A dragging noise. Eventually, the whoosh of a flame.

Skunk crawled back inside the van, feeling around for his discarded jacket. "Can...can you imagine what the cops are gonna think?"

"...Huh?" Harry passed the jacket over.

"They'll be like, "Oh no! Another dumpster fire down by Echo Park last night!" And they're all gonna flip out and drive down there tomorrow morning, thinking someone's dumped a body, and they're gonna pull out a burned-ass cum-soaked futon. Holy shit, I'm cracking up just thinking about it."

Harry sighed. "You're blasted. It's time to go home."

"Sure, fine." Skunk pulled the van back doors closed. "Swing by the Ice Palace first, though. I'm hungry as hell."

As far as Harry was concerned, had been the best day with the gang in a long while.


	2. The Devil Came Down to Metro City

When the gang was out of the warehouse, Skunk was usually able to get decent rest. He had occupied the warehouse for two months now but hadn't really inspected the place, beyond making sure it was abandoned and wire-free, so this left entire storage rooms and closets full of random crap. Skunk knew Harry liked exploring those for himself.

It was maybe 1 PM, and Skunk was in his room, a "refurbished" manager's office. He only needed the basics in that bedroom: a bed, a TV, his clothing in a large trunk, and various trinkets from past heists. He had been awake for barely two hours. The fall of a box echoed through the warehouse, and it felt like a dog whistle with Skunk's hangover.

"J-Jesus! The _fuck_ are you doing out there?!" Skunk sat up from his bed and shouted at the doorway, his choice of volume backfiring horribly on himself.

A moment passed, and Harry came in running with a box of something. His face was lit up with excitement as he called out, "B-Boss! I found some perfectly good tools in the old garage room!"

"Mmhmm. Fine." Skunk groaned, rubbing at his face. It seemed to be that Harry was working on the car; he couldn't complain.

Harry knelt to the ground, opening up a cardboard box and rifling through it. "Whoever owned this place before must've bought these and forgot about them! These are brand new! Mine are falling apart, and I can finally get stuff done on time!"

"Speakin' of, how's the car doing?" Skunk knew he sounded uninterested. "I told some guys we'd meet 'em tonight."

"I-It's going well. Just need to adjust the tires and figure out what's making the windshield wiper fluid shoot funny."

"Good, good..." Skunk's eyes were feeling heavy. He knew full well he needed to get up, shower, and make himself look less like pond scum, but Skunk just wanted to konk out for another four hours.

"Would it help if I made coffee?"

"Sure, sure." As soon as he made the call, Harry skittered out of the room. God, the was kid loud when he was hyper...

Harry returned some time later with straight black coffee, in a yellow Doraemon mug. He set it on the end table, declaring, "Here! Just how you like it."

"Maybe not the fuckin' mug, Hare, but I appreciate it," Skunk gurgled as he dragged himself to the edge of the bed. He took a hefty gulp of coffee and pretended it wasn't as hot as it was.

"It's all we have until the dishwasher finishes, boss."

"Ah."

Harry waited a few minutes, and then started to head out the door. The sound of his boss clearing his throat made him skid to a stop immediately.

"Y-yes?"

"You got any plans for the evening?"

Harry was quiet, awkwardly so, clearly trying to suppress blunt sarcasm. He said timidly, "Well, c'mon, you know I never have plans outside the gang."

"You do now. Two buddies of mine are passing through town on the way to some deal, and we thought we'd meet for dinner."

"Where-?" Harry asked, finding himself being suddenly pulled to the side of the bed. Skunk let his fingers sink through Harry's already naturally-ruffled hair.

"Hm." Skunk paused to think, hoping the coffee would kick in already. "Some place called the Chateau Griande. I think I bought some amps behind the place a few years ago."

Harry's eyes widened. "That place is expensive!"

"Harry, man, how long've you known me?" Skunk put an arm around his shoulder. "We won't be _paying_."

The younger man blinked a few times. "... _Oh_."

"Right. And we'll be picking some stuff up on the way out, too."

••••••••••••

Skunk had Ox drop them off about three blocks from the restaurant. Harry suspected it was to make them look more natural; nothing good ever seemed to come out of driving a plateless hot red aerocar into the centre of town.

"I look like some preppy idiot," Harry whined as he tried to adjust his cabby hat.

"You look fine. You blend right in." Skunk had thrown on a fedora and a cotton face mask. Face masks were still a common thing in Metro City, and he just looked like some tall guy with a cold. The paleness of his skin certainly sealed the deal.

Chateau Griande was a small, bi-level white building tucked in between a nightclub and a shoe store. The second half of "Station to Station" blared from inside the night club, and its front neon sign reading "MINX" glowed pink into the nightscape. Harry felt a strange, happy feeling at the sight of this; it was odd to experience such a perfect aesthetic right before him.

The two didn't stop to stare. They stepped into the restaurant, finding a tall, suited man in a black trench coat standing by the reservation desk. Harry had no idea who this was, but stayed quiet, knowing this was one of Metro City's criminal oldheads. Skunk, on the other hand, almost didn't recognize the man; Acetylene Lamp had gotten new frames and infinitely pricier clothing.

"Well, well..." Lamp said, strolling up to Skunk as he took off his brown leather gloves. "I didn't think they stacked shit this high."

"You still give Ham rides on that thing?" Skunk jeered, with a glance at Lamp's mustache. The two burst out laughing, Lamp giving a goodhearted smack to Skunk's upper arm, all while Harry and the woman at the reservation desk shared a confused glance. It wasn't a long one, as Skunk soon nudged Harry as a cue to follow him to the second floor. Lamp gave the reservation desk four fingers, signalling how many menus they'd need.

Lamp joined them on the stairs soon enough. He called out behind the two, "So who's the kid?"

"Harry Pilat," Skunk called back. "Right-hand man."

"You mean he drives you around, or..." Lamp shaped his right hand into an O and flicked it up and down briskly. Harry almost tripped and fell down the stairs upon seeing this.

"Christ, Lamp, can it!" Skunk pulled his face mask off. "Go to 77th Street and rent a girl if you're gonna be like this."

"I'm testing you. Don't want you to get soft, Kusai."

Hamegg waved to them from the top of the stairs before darting into a private room. Harry caught sight of the man and glanced confusedly at Skunk, who whispered, "Old gang friends. We went to college together."

"Yeah, but why'd you invite me?" Harry's first question honestly was, _You went to college?_

"You seemed bored at home."

Harry turned away from Skunk. It wasn't often that the older man got that personal with him; it was almost flattering to think he'd been brought out for a simple dinner.

They reached the private room, a tiny white and purple dining room that turned halfway into a balcony. Lamp closed the translucent glass door behind them, and went about hanging his trench coat on the platinum coat hook opposite the door.

"Ham's already ordered some red and hors d'oeuvres." Lamp waved a hand towards the round table.

Skunk picked up the entire red wine bottle and took a strong chug. Harry took his time taking his hat off and shaking his hair back into place.

"You two are animals," Hamegg sighed. He was in the process of dipping little cheese squares into fondue sauce. He did this while wearing prim white gloves.

Skunk rolled his eyes and sat opposite Hamegg at the table. "And _you've_ gotten soft. What happened to the robot circus?"

"The Chicago mob shut it down." Hamegg bitterly bit into a cheese piece. "Since then, Lamp and I have been running some old tricks, you see...odd jobs and heists to pay the bills."

"You don't pay bills."

Hamegg smirked. "Fine. To pay for entertainment expenses."

Silent, Harry sat at the table with his hands on his knees. He privately hoped Skunk would order whiskey, or some other form of alcohol he actually liked. Wine just tasted like paint to him. The faces of the new men looked familiar to Harry now; it had begun to set in that he knew them very distantly from the wanted posters that used to hang in Cristallo's years ago. Harry was in a room with three of the craftiest criminals to come out of Metro City. He didn't know whether to be flattered that Skunk would bring him around these guys, or to be completely pissed about his shot nerves.

"How did you meet Skunk, young man?" Hamegg asked, making Harry look up. Hamegg, as he only ever seemed to be known as, had a big beaming grin that Harry identified as a kind one. Harry looked away, shrugging.

"Well...he just kinda picked me up at a bar I worked at...I guess he liked how well I put up with the clientele." Harry played with his hands. "I had to carry whole trays of mugs, so I guess that shows handiness...?"

"Yeah. I was runnin' low on men at the time," Skunk said behind the wine glass at his lips. "Harry's a smart little shit."

"Kindred souls, would you say?" beamed Hamegg.

"Yeah, I guess, if I wanted to sound like some fuckin' Shakespeare play."

Lamp, who had been talking to a waiter at the doorway, finally sat down with four menus. The bulky man dropped them on the table, and began fumbling in his blazer pocket. The other men clamoured for a menu as Lamp loudly lit a cigarillo.

"Look how much the steak costs in this place," Skunk complained to Harry. "You see chicken strips on here?"

"Just roast chicken, boss."

"Venture out of your comfort zone and try something _not_ drenched in oil," Lamp hissed.

Skunk looked up. "Oh, this from the asshole with the fruity little cigars. What flavour, bubblegum?"

"Whisky," Lamp drawled in a smoky exhale.

Hamegg looked over at Harry, trying to grin as he said, "This is the norm."

It wasn't long before a waiter came by to take orders. They had caught the waiter's silhouette behind the frosted glass door; Harry couldn't help but notice the speed at which Skunk identified who was coming and booked it to the balcony. Harry kept calm enough to give his boss's order. It was as the young man had worried; the boss _knew_ that he couldn't be seen or the staff would call the police.

The waiter left, shortly after dropping off a new bottle of wine. The door closed, and Harry felt himself turn into jelly.

"This was a bad idea," Harry whined into his hands. Hamegg, strangely paternal at that moment, poured a glass of water and nudged it towards the young man.

"It'll be okay, Pilat!" he beamed. "Lamp here and I have gotten away with far bigger stunts. Lamp, remember when we robbed that bank, and went back with wigs to pay off my credit card?"

Lamp gave him a smug nod. Elsewhere in the room, Skunk flicked a finished cigarette off the balcony and rejoined them at the table. Harry sat silently in his chair, his stomach churning in a new fit of anxiety.

"We can bribe them," Skunk said with exasperation. "I've got a bunch of fake bills to blow off."

Lamp nodded. "That's an option, yeah. Real money or not, the shit on the walls in this place will make it up."

"You're testing me, huh," Harry hissed to Skunk.

"Sort of. Dinner and exercise, like the time we-"

Harry slammed his hands down on the table. "You _jerk_!"

"Don't talk back to me, you little shit!"

"And don't you lie to me, you _big_ shit!"

"Oh! Great trash talk, you fuckin' toddler!"

Hamegg sighed, bemusedly putting his chin in his hand. "They're like us back in the day, aren't they, Ace?"

Lamp didn't even look away from the two arguing. "Who said we ever quit being like that?"

"You think I'm a kid, huh?!" Harry stood up, bold, and held out a hand to Lamp. "Gimme one of those cigars! P-Please!"

"Hmm? Oh..." Lamp, now quickly becoming invested in the charade, pulled one cigarillo and a Zippo lighter out of his jacket and plunked them into the young man's hand.

Harry fastened a scornful glare at his boss, standing beside him, doing his best to summon every mental image of the yazuka men he'd seen in movies. Harry bit into the cigarillo's plastic tip, flicked a flame out of the lighter, drew a drag and-

Harry hacked as he lost balance, a wheezing mess of flailing hands, into the side of the table and soon the floor. Hamegg quickly held onto his end of the table's tablecloth to keep the entire setup from sliding down with the boy. Shallow hacks filled the little room, and Lamp thanked every god he knew of that the room had adequate soundproofing.

"You don't inhale cigars," Skunk called out over the hacking. "You just draw it into your mouth. You don't inhale them."

"F-f-fuh-f-fuck y-you-u-u," Harry gasped.

Hamegg privately wondered if it would hurt to jump from a second story balcony.

••••••••••••

The mood in the room simmered down once the food arrived. A pleasant silence fell into the room while the four men went ahead with eating; the sound of some party's laughter coming from outside their door, accompanied by piano music. The plan for a heist loomed over the four, but things at that moment were almost downright joyful.

"I don't think I've ever eaten lobster before," Harry said; he hoped he wasn't looking like too much of a slob. The older men at the table, meanwhile, seemed to admire his enjoyment.

"I hope you don't feel awkward hanging out with old men on a Saturday night," Lamp said. "Most guys your age would rather go to the nightclub next door."

"I hate dancing, to be honest."

"Must be a relief for your boss..." Lamp said with a nod at Skunk. "This big bastard couldn't dance if his life was on the line. You should've seen him at Bowie Night."

"You're the guy who tried waltzin' at a damn synthpop club!" Skunk shouted through a mouthful of lobster.

"My mother taught me class, Skunk."

"And mine taught me not to take shit. We can deck it out on the patio."

Harry tried to stifle a laugh, but it came out as a loud snort. Skunk glanced over at the younger man, gave him a pensive look, and then wore a grin as he ruffled Harry's hair.

"Kid," Skunk began, "In about ten minutes, you wanna go down to the front doors and drive our getaway?"

"S-Sure!" Harry was relieved to be delegated to just driving. He enjoyed it, and more often than not, it felt like a video game to drive the gang around. Skunk gave him an approving nod.

"It'll be the blue van. I set it on auto, and it should be parking outside in a few minutes."

Lamp looked up, shocked. "Auto? How'd you get one of those self-driving motherboards?"

"Simple." Skunk sat back proudly. "You go to an auction, you _see_ it, and then you decide you want it for free."

"Th-they're illegal for civilians!" Hamegg was nearly hysterical. "If the cops find we're using one, we're guaranteed jail!"

Skunk slapped his hand on the tabletop, shouting, "We're not goin' to jail, Ham! Take it down a notch! And we're not just civilians either."

"Yeah, lord, how many times have we done this, Ham?" Lamp accusingly asked Hamegg. "I better not see _you_ deciding when to take your leave."

Skunk glanced over to check on Harry, who sat there awkwardly looking at his empty plate. Hamegg, in the meantime, was in the middle of yelling back, "I started climbing out that window because someone's phone sounded like a siren, so-"

The waiter came into the room. All men at the table went silent, turning to see a perky, but slightly uncomfortable young man holding a pitcher of water.

"Hey there, gentlemen, everything going good so far?" he asked.

"Y...yeah," Lamp sputtered. "We're good. Can we see the dessert menu?"

"Certainly." The young man set down four small leatherbound menus on the centre of the table, and then collected the empty dishes. There was an uncomfortable silence as he refilled Harry and Lamp's glasses of water.

"Anything else you're looking for-?" The waiter looked up casually, his eyes happening to meet Skunk's. Tense, Skunk only stared back, trying to look calm and collected. Skunk knew at that exact moment that there was _no_ way the waiter wouldn't know who he was.

"No..." Skunk replied, pensive. The sweat on his face spoke volumes for him.

The waiter nodded, and without another word, turned and walked back out the door.

The table was silent once more. Skunk drew a breath in, turned to the shaking Harry, and said, "I think the van's here now. Why don't you go get in and get ready?"

Harry sprung to his feet, giving his boss a quick nod. "Y-Yessir!"

"We'll be out in a few!" Skunk called after him. Harry gently closed the door behind him, quietly hurried down the stairs, and back out the restaurant entrance. The people at the reservation desk didn't pay much attention him, and he was grateful. A few metres outside the storefront sat the big blue gang van, as inconspicuous and generic as it was clunky.

Harry climbed in through the passenger's side door and sat in the driver's seat. All he needed to do was wait.

••••••••••••

"Well, the evening's eaten shit already." Skunk stood up, slipping the restaurant bottle of whiskey into his jacket inner pocket. "Let's get business started."

Lamp whipped out a heavy-duty nylon sack from his jacket pocket and unfolded it, and Hamegg responded by pulling down art from the walls and throwing it into the sack. The three headed side by side to the room door, and with one strong kick, Lamp brought the ornate white door to the ground.

" _Ladies and gentlemen,_ " Skunk hollered into the now stunned restaurant. "We are announcing a _donation drive_!"

Lamp tossed his sack into the centre of the room. "That's right! Donate now and win a chance to _not get shot_!"

Skunk pulled out a gun and began kicking down the other private room doors. "Come one, come _all_! Get the fuckin' wallets and jewellery out!"

Lamp fired some bullets into the centre wall, bringing down a diamond-speckled wall ornament. Hamegg rushed to it like it was a spilled pinata, as the nearby table full of screeching people dove out of the way.

"Please," Lamp called out with the smoothness of a game show host. "Give _generously_!"

The room erupted in screams and hollering, with dining patrons frantically putting their hands in the air or tossing their valuables at the sack. Hamegg pulled out a nylon sack of his own, running down the stairs to the smaller downstairs dining area. He whipped out a pistol, firing it into the air and calling out in a sing-song voice, "It's time to pay your _duuues_!"

Chateau Griande on a Saturday night was a place for debutantes and the mod rich. In other words, a night like this was absolute prime time trick-or-treating. Hamegg was in a gleeful spree, collecting wallets and necklaces from table to table, scooping up silver and putting the occasional bullet through the walls.

Harry could hear the commotion inside the van. He sat there, nervous, mapping out escape routes in his head. _Everything's gonna be okay,_ he reminded himself. _Skunk's got lots of tricks on the road. I know this already._

"Go time!" Skunk screamed in the street. Harry started the van on instinct, flipping the switch that called for the van 's side door to slide open. Hamegg, Lamp, and Skunk piled into the van with filled nylon sacks as Harry slammed on the gas.

As the door slid shut, Harry burned through a red light and headed towards the A-87 overpass tunnel. He sputtered, "H-How was it?!"

"It was _Christmas_!" Skunk hollered, almost making Harry fall out of his seat. "Everything you could ask for in one sitting!"

Harry breached the opening to the tunnel just as sirens resonated in the distance. He still had time. Ignoring the chatter of the men behind him, Harry typed hurriedly into the van dashboard. As soon as he hit enter, a section of the wall to the left of the van slid open. Harry made a sharp turn and brought the van safely inside.

The sub-tunnel was badly lit but well-crafted. The van was silent now. As the shaft behind them closed with an impounding thud, Harry whispered, "N-nobody turn your phones on until we're out. We're hidden, but phone a-activity will show where we are."

"Nice," Lamp purred, watching the walls of the sub-tunnel pass through the window. "Is this your work, Skunk?"

Skunk sat back. "Sort of. This maintenance tunnel gets used by robots once a month, but if you throw money at the right person, you get the access codes...!"

"W-We just gotta make it out to the riverfront, cut across the access bridge, and then we can relax at the hill place."

Hamegg asked timidly, "Hill place?"

"Our hideout in the countryside, a b-busted-out bottling plant. I think Skunk invited some guys. It'll be wild."

••••••••••••

Inside a small aging bottling plant, out in a sea of tall beige grass among hills, was Skunk's dusty but lovingly-decorated backup hideout. The dead conveyor machinery room had been mostly cleared, converted into a party hall. Aluminium tables and chairs were set up, with a classic rock station playing through the factory P.A. system. Booze and other substances flowed freely. The mood in the hideout was lush, to say the least.

" _I wanna thank you for the love you bring_ ," Hamegg, Ox, Gato, and Vito had linked arms, and sloppily sang along to the Gino Vannelli on the radio. " _Louisiana is a song I sing._.."

Someone moved too fast in the sway, splashing their glass of red wine all over the floor. They burst out laughing in the drunken stupor. Skunk had sent two sober people to go pick up Hamegg and Lamp's car from the other side of town – Harry was surprised he wasn't one of them.

Skunk, Lamp, and the gang dug through the loot sacks at a table table cluster, looking like a bunch of children after trick or treating. Jewellery and coins were spilled across the table.

"What good is takin' this much stuff if you're not gonna share?" Skunk slurred. He, Lamp, and Hamegg had already taken their choice items. "Dig in, boys!"

Somebody whooped in celebration and chucked a beer bottle on the ground. Lamp winced. He sat back and started lighting a cigar, growling, "Where the hell do you pick these guys up, Skunk?"

"If someone's strong, loyal, and knows who they can't talk to, then they've got work with me."

"You soft-serve," Lamp chuckled. "And giving us room overnight, too."

"Least I can do, Ace."

Lamp narrowed his eyes behind his cigar. He had always hated the nickname, but he'd let that pass for the evening.

Harry came into the hall with a case of beer for the group. Skunk caught sight of him from the corner of his eye, and whirled around in his chair, throwing a handful of paper money at the younger man. "Think fast!"

"Ah-!" Harry waved it out of his way like a cloud of flies. "H-Here's the Great Western, boss."

"C'mere, ya little shit," Skunk just about cooed. Harry managed to shove the case onto the table before Skunk dragged him into an embrace. Harry only resisted out of worry of gawks from the more sober people in the room.

"Mmh- boss, I b-" Harry gasped between sloppy kisses. "Stop, Mr. Lamp's staring!"

"It's cute," Lamp said, hoping the wine wouldn't show in his voice. "Sorry kid. I'm just too glad to be here in general."

Someone at the table picked up an especially large diamond ring and cackled triumphantly. Elsewhere, Hamegg had linked arms with Vito and Ox, and they were spiraling around to the tune of "Rag Doll."

"Except..." Lamp eyed this enviously. "I just wish _my_ right-hand man would remember who he came here with..."

Harry let the entire moment sink in. Cheesy rock blared through the room, fluorescent light gleaming down on a table coated in riches, as the gang roamed, talking and joking around. Skunk held Harry against him like a big doll, smelling like a bizarre juxtaposition of cheap aftershave and the finest liquor available. Something about all of it felt special.

There were times when Harry tried to remember why he stuck around in the gang. It was the nights like this. He closed his eyes, letting the feeling around him sink in for future reference.


	3. Tied Up, Tied Down

Sometimes, Harry liked the "hill place" more than the main hangout. Maybe it was the fact that they actually had a washer and dryer in the building, or how things felt more special when they were camping out there. The isolation definitely made the sex better.

They were both hideously loud and raunchy. Rutting wasn't something they could just do at the regular place, where Skunk's room was a foreman's room that overlooked the main hall. The farthest room of the hill place's second floor gave the perfect privacy – in sound and distance alike – for anything they wanted. Especially at 4 A.M.

Harry bit his lip, rocking his hips up and down his boss's cock, to the flow of the searing guitar of "Anything Goes." Skunk lay under him, guiding the younger man's hips with his hands. Even with all the lube and the experience, Harry still wasn't fully used to having dick all the way inside him. The dirty talk at least made things easier.

"You're getting so good," Skunk groaned. " _Sooo_ so good."

"Yeahhh?"

"I'm reeeeal proud of you, kid. God _damn_. Look at that back arch."

Harry pushed out his chest, going down for one good ride. He could feel the stupid grin on his face. Skunk dug his fingers into Harry's hips, and the younger man gasped from the sharp jabs, but it almost felt too good alongside the throbbing dick driving into his prostate.

"Look at your cute fuckin' arch." It sounded like this was what would drive Skunk over the edge. "Too goddamned cute. What are you doin' around a guy like me, Harry? Cute little dick-takin' brat!"

Harry tried to banter back, but his mouth sputtered open, gasping, "Angahaah aaah..."

"S-Shit!" Skunk squirmed. "Y-You close?"

"M-m-mnnuh!"

One pale hand rushed to Harry's dick, jerking him so firmly that the younger man gasped in shock. God, if Harry wasn't close before, he sure was now.

The last thing Harry thought before it was, _I am so glad they can't hear us up here._

"Ooohhhhh, ride it _out, Harry_!"

" _Aaauuunnnnhuhhhhh_!"

"Fuck! Yes! _Fuck_! _**Yes**_!"

"Skuuhhnn _nnnhhh_!"

The tidal waves of endorphins faded away, leaving the two sweaty and light-headed; Harry still sat wobbly on Skunk's lap, his round tan face flushed with colour. Cum had spilled onto Skunk's hands and Harry's thighs. Nobody wanted to move quite in that moment.

When the moment did pass, Skunk sighed contentedly, whispering, "All right, get off. I'll get the wet wipes."

The young man pulled himself off breathlessly, collapsing on his back into bed, tangled in soft blue sheets and quilt. The bedding was almost too nice and generic for Skunk's tastes; they must have lifted it from a hotel room long ago. He lay there, eyes lidded, taking in the afterglow. He almost jolted at the touch of a cold wet wipe dabbing the cum off of him.

"Ah...!" Harry breathed. The radio shut off across the room. The snap of a condom being pulled off. Shoes being irritatedly kicked out of the way. Eventually, Harry felt movement around him, and the boss climbed back into bed, yanking the blankets up over the two of them. They just lay there, quiet, in a contented silence that felt better than any conversation.

Skunk wasn't romantic. He never had been, and he never would be. But he did become softer around Harry when they were alone.

"You awake, kid...?" Skunk mumbled, toying with Harry's hair. They had been mutually drifting in and out of consciousness. Harry nodded drowsily. He narrowed his eyes, trying to see the digital clock over his boss's shoulder.

Harry nodded, quiet. "Uh-huh."

"Mm." An agreeing noise. "...You're gettin' good on top. But you sound like a fucking dinosaur."

 _That_ woke Harry up a bit. "I do _not_."

"It's kinda cute, though. Like you're so horny that you can't talk."

"Everything I do is "cute"," Harry groaned dejectedly.

"Well, it is." Skunk rubbed at the younger man's back. He studied Harry; he looked so small next to him in that king sized bed. The image of a baby bird came to mind, and he caught himself eyeing the young man's ruffled brown hair, sweat-sticky tan skin, and little hands. Skunk sighed, breathing through his nose; he didn't know what he was feeling exactly.

Harry blinked slowly, eyes on the ceiling. "...Anything fun going on tomorrow?"

"...The usual sleaze. Maybe we'll watch a movie," Skunk mumbled. "Ox wants to drive out to Avalon for groceries, though..."

The idle talk before sleep, with pauses getting longer and longer, always felt the best.

"...Good...I might go with him..."

"Mm...at least you'll know what I like..."

"...Yeah..."

"...Mm."

••••••••••••

Skunk was the first one to wake up that day; he was almost shocked to see the digital clock across the room read 10:44 AM. He attempted to lay back and get comfortable again, but he knew deep down that he was awake for good. He rolled his eyes.

"Shit," Skunk hissed, starting to pull himself out of bed. The small groan to his left made him realize that Harry's tan arms were still wrapped around his torso.

"Is...is it time...?" Harry mumbled through lidded eyes. Skunk peeled the younger man off himself and pulled the blankets back over him.

"Go back to bed," he said. "Nothing's going on."

Harry blindly fumbled for a grip on his boss, until Skunk put a pillow in his line of reach. Freed, Skunk hurriedly got dressed, hoping a decent suit and cologne would make up for being sweaty as hell. A crack of bright sunlight hit his line of vision from behind the curtains, and Skunk hissed loudly, grabbing for his head.

 _Jesus,_ he thought, _Hungover again. I never learn._

He slithered into the base's makeshift kitchen, wincing a bit at the brightness of the overhead fluorescent lights. A big, apeish lackey Skunk only knew as Gorisuke was passed out in the adjacent doorway. Ox sat at the table, biting a toothpick as he read yesterday's newspaper. Vito was snorting a line of cocaine off the far end of the counter. Someone left the radio on in the other room, and Kim Mitchell echoed into the hall.

"Hey, boss," Ox said with a quick glance up. "I made coffee."

Skunk gave an approving grunt, throwing open the cabinet and grabbing a mug. The noises of this sounded infinitely louder than usual, and his wince must have been noticeable, as he heard Ox suddenly shift in his seat.

The larger man asked, "Hungover?"

"Mmnmuh."

"I can make you a bacon sandwich. The protein and wheat does something for your brain when it's deprived of-"

"Shut the fuck up, Ox."

Vito gestured to his end of the counter and asked, "You want the last bit of blow?"

"Nah." Skunk went back to pouring coffee. "It was fun, but I don't like what I did on it."

He sat down at the table across from Ox. The larger man nodded approvingly. Vito snorted the rest up loudly before half-dancing into the hall.

"You've kinda turned your act around, actually..." Ox didn't look up from his paper. "You know, on a personal level. The criminal activity's better than ever."

Skunk sat back. "What are you getting at?"

"You don't drink 'til you puke every night, and you don't go around snorting every powder you see." Ox turned a page, still reading. "Goddamn, another tuition hike."

"Yeah...I guess I _have_ been kinda cleaner..." Skunk gulped back coffee. "This ain't a bad thing, is it?"

"Not at all. I don't have to worry anymore if I'm gonna wake up and find you dead." Ox set his newspaper down, looking Skunk in the eye. "It's the kid, isn't it?"

Gorisuke snored loudly on the floor.

Skunk stared back at Ox, analyzing his intention. After a moment, he nodded. "...Probably."

"It's a good change. Everybody seems to be having a good time lately." Ox went back to his paper. "I hope you pay him well for having to touch your ass."

"You-!" Skunk whipped the paper out of Ox's hands and smacked him in the face with it. But they were both cackling with laughter.

••••••••••••

Skunk returned to his bedroom some time later, a canned coffee and toaster pastry in tow. He nudged the door open, finding Harry still fast asleep in a tangle of sheets and duvet.

"Morning, kid!" Skunk called out, setting the makeshift breakfast on his side table.

Harry didn't move.

"Harry," Skunk said, his voice stronger and maybe a little more tense. "It's time to get up."

Harry made a soft groan and rolled onto his side. Skunk paused for a moment, watching the younger man lie stagnant, deep in sleep.

He stepped to the side of the bed, grabbed the edge of the mattress, and tilted it up over his head as he shouted, "Morning!"

Harry screamed and hit the floor on the other side. Skunk dropped the mattress back down onto the box spring, forcing himself to not laugh at the way it flopped like a fish upon impact. Harry sat on the floor, naked, in a pile of blankets and brandishing the fiercest glare he could muster.

Skunk proudly pointed to the food he'd brought in. "I made you a toaster strudel."

With a grunt, Harry stood up, putting his hands on his hips. Skunk's eyes darted back and forth from maintaining eye contact to ogling the younger man's chubby stomach and thighs. Annoyed, Harry yelped, "You could've just shaken me awake like a normal person!"

"Hare, we both know I'm not a normal person." Skunk sat down on the edge of his bed and started lighting a cigarette. "Now eat, before your strudel and iced coffee trade temperatures."

Harry started to pick up the previous day's clothes in a huff, shoving himself into his slacks and turtleneck. Harry went for his blazer and paused, realizing just how battered it had gotten after the years of wearing it. He rubbed at the collar with his thumb; it was worn in places from all the heists and scuffs he'd been in, and it still smelled of last night's pot and brandy. Harry fondly looked over to the boss's back, set his blazer on the bed, and crawled over to hug him from behind. Skunk made a satisfied hum upon feeling Harry's tan arms wrap around him.

"Let's do it again," Harry whispered.

"No." Skunk was uniform. "I gotta make some phone calls and see if we can go back to town."

"And after that...?"

"Probably gonna tune up the van."

Harry gently pulled the boss onto his back, slinking up his side to straddle him. Skunk lay stiff, unimpressed, biting into the end of his cigarette as Harry gazed down at him. As sultry as he could say it, Harry asked, "Can you fit me in later, or more like, fit _in_ me...?"

Skunk took his cigarette out and blew a stream of smoke into the younger man's face. "Classy. Get off me."

Harry gasped, stumbling off. Skunk turned away and headed to the door. He recognized the sound of a blazer being hucked onto the floor and stopped with a sigh, hand on the doorknob. He looked over his shoulder, groaning, "Kiddo..."

"I always turn you out when _you_ need it," Harry whined.

"Harry. I have shit to do."

"I have needs too!"

"Yeah, you _need_ to eat your fuckin' breakfast and come help with the van!"

"Why can't _you_ work on it?!"

"Because I've got a goddamned _hangover_ , _Pilat!_ What do you think I pay you to do around here?!"

Harry made a loud, guttural groan in resignation, turning away. Skunk drunk himself to excess all the time, but now of all times, it seemed like the biggest inconvenience that time and nature could have possibly dumped on them.

"I'd say," Harry spat, unable to stop himself. "You pay me to keep your boozy ass together! I bet you'd be out cold on the fucking pavement without me!"

Skunk froze.

Harry struggled to read the expression on his boss's face, but he couldn't catch anything. This was something entirely new. Skunk turned to him, arms hanging flaccid at his sides, and stared at him with hollow eyes.

He said calmly, "Get out of my room."

Harry grabbed his blazer and bolo tie and bolted out of the room, hearing the door slam behind him. He felt a chill run up his spine. _Oh fuck, oh fuck,_ he thought to himself. _I've really fucked up this time._

He stumbled up the hall, shoving his arms through his blazer with his tie in his teeth. He was relieved to see Ox heading to the garage room. The larger man heard Harry gasping for air and turned, confused, becoming increasingly so as he saw Harry flailing up the hall.

Ox looked him up and down. "H-Harry, the hell are you running from?"

"C-Can I go with you to Avalon?!" Harry half-yelled. "I, uh, need to get outta here for a bit!"

Far up the hall came the distinct sound of someone driving kicks into the wall over and over. Ox's head slowly swiveled to stare down at Harry, with the larger man knowing full well that Skunk was the source.

"What the fuck did you do?" Ox asked plainly.

"I...I...just a...fight, y'know?" Harry tried to wear a casual smile that only made him look like he was at gunpoint.

Ox groaned, rolling his eyes before sinking his face into his hand. He complained, "I'm not gonna be in shit for this, am I?"

"N-No, I can vouch for y-"

"What exactly did you do?!"

"Nothing. Nothing, man. Let's just go." Harry hurried ahead of Ox, aware that he was shaking. Ox breathed in deeply, exhaled, and then followed him to the car.

••••••••••••

"Okay, but like," Ox tried to focus on the road ahead, letting his right hand wave on every other word. "You get that's a real shitty thing to say, right?"

"He was being shitty, too!" Harry lay across the back seat, unbuckled.

"Yeah, but like, you kinda topped off the shit pile with that line, kid."

Harry stared down at the car floor, ashamed.

"Think about it. He knows he's got a problem. Skunk's fuckin' ugly all around. I don't know how you see him, but that's sure how _he_ sees himself. How long've you two been foolin' around? Two years, right? And then he just gets told that you think he'd be dead without him."

"The...the boss isn't that helpless," the younger man said desperately. "A-And I didn't really mean it."

"Then why say it?"

Silence.

Ox grunted, making a turn on the road. He said, "Well, you sure didn't stick around to clear things up, huh? At least help me with the shit today."

Trips to Avalon didn't normally feel this empty and cold.

It was a small township some kilometres outside Metro City, mostly containing a decent shopping district and some dinky little restaurants. The town could be described as the gang's preferred mix of useful and sleazy. It was serviced by the police station of another city, which meant that anybody in the gang but Skunk was free to walk around there.

Deep inside the Shop EZ Supermarket, the bulking but momentarily docile Ox went about picking cooking items off the shelf. He held a box of EZ Cakes over his basket, asking, "You think the guys want mini cakes again?"

"Yeah. Sure," Harry sighed.

Ox dropped the box into his basket with a sigh. He grunted, "Did you at least go get the cocktail mix?"

"Yeah."

Ox glanced back at Harry. The younger man looked tiredly at the ground, absentmindedly fidgeting with one of the cords of his bolo tie. He limply held onto the neck of the margarita mix bottle in his other hand. Ox sighed, and he wasn't sure if he did it out of annoyance or pity.

"Kid, why don't you go grab a treat for yourself?"

Harry looked up, apprehensive. "Well...there's a hot rod magazine at the front of the store, but..."

"Grab it, then."

"But it's $10.99!"

"Kid, go get it."

"But it's the boss's money!"

"Kid." Ox put down his basket, moving his hands to Harry's shoulders, pulling his posture up. Ox's voice was calm, in a gravelly and tired way. "Listen to me already. Get the magazine. Years ago, the boss personally appointed me with executive decision. I'm his backup. If the boss is out of town, or he gets kacked, I'm the one who takes over on the spot. Y'know what that means?"

Harry barely held back a shudder at the idea of Skunk dying. He sputtered, "W-What's it mean?"

"It means," Ox continued, stern, "That if the boss isn't around, and if I tell someone to do somethin', it's _completely_ authorized by the boss's word."

"O-Oh."

"So go get the goddamn magazine."

"O-O-Okay."

••••••••••••

"Can you think of anything else we need?" Ox asked, staring out at the road as he drove. Harry mumbled an "nuh-uh" from the backseat, sitting among a small sea of shopping bags.

The younger man looked tiredly up from his hot rod magazine. "Uh...maybe candy. That's just me. We already got plenty of booze for the week."

Ox nodded. The gang went through liquor like a family went through milk. Having a supply taken care of put him at ease, and he bit hard into his lip. His destination couldn't come soon enough.

"Wait, Ox, do we need to pick up any...y'know..."

"We'll get the pot on the way outta town."

Ox suddenly pulled into the twee parking lot beside a white, steel gate-lined building that reminded Harry of a small Texan ranch building. On the other side of the street, a baseball field sheathed by thirty-foot-tall netting walls. The field's emptiness made the adjacent fancy buildings feel almost as vapid. Harry set down his magazine and looked to the rear view window, hoping to meet Ox's eyes and get an explanation. The larger man turned in his seat, smirking as he rifled through his wallet.

"There's an arcade and strip mall just up the way we came," Ox said quickly. "Here's a hundred dollars. Go nuts."

Harry took the bills in hand, anxious. "What do you need here?"

"Some pussy. Look at the sign, genius."

Harry looked back to the ranch style house, focused his eyes, and immediately groaned in disgust. _Bunny Ranch_.

"What, kid? You want a date, too?"

"Fuck off," Harry spat as he climbed out of the car.

Almost cackling, Ox got out of the driver's side door and strolled up to the gate. He waved off, "I'll be half an hour!"

Harry headed the opposite way up the street, the bills tucked into his blazer pocket, feeling almost nude. He was alone. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd truly been alone, physically, since he'd started working for Skunk. It felt alien as he walked up the empty street, a divide between the ominous tall baseball nets and the bleached white small businesses. At that moment, Harry knew he was just some guy on the street. He quickly realized how much he didn't like the feeling.

Harry turned on his heels and ran back to the brothel parking lot. A stitch in his side was blossoming but he didn't care. Harry just didn't want to be out in the road alone.

He reached the passenger's side door and yanked on the door latch. _Locked. Shit._ Harry was ready to slump against the side of the car before the remote unlock chirped merrily. His wide eyes searched the area for Ox, catching him in a window on the second floor. Ox waved smugly, before a feminine brown arm pulled him out of view.

Disgusted but grateful, Harry climbed into the car and sank into his seat with a sulk. He thought, out of breath, _He'll probably not notice if I just hold onto the hundred bucks_.

There was half a joint discarded in the car ashtray. Swiping it up, Harry decided that nobody would miss it either.

••••••••••••

They made it back to the hideout around 6 PM. Ox brought the car into their garage, pleased to see Vito and a few of the straggler henchmen toying away at the van. He parked, honked twice, and guffawed at the sight of the scrawny balding man smacking his head on the underside of the hood.

" _Coglioni_!" Vito hollered at their car. Ox cackled, giving Harry a gentle elbow to the side. He turned and was less than thrilled to see Harry forlorn in his seat.

"Kid, c'mon, you've been like this for hours," he grunted.

"I'm a-afraid of the boss."

Ox turned back to the steering wheel and groaned. He gave Harry a half-assed pat on the shoulder before getting out of the car. Harry plied himself out of his seat, as Ox pulled a case of bottled Yebisu from a freezer bag and began carrying it over to the workshop area.

"The brewman cometh," he shouted, eliciting one man's cheer. "Food and more's in the back seat!"

Vito spotted Harry some metres away and gave him a beaming grin. "Hey, kid, so that's where you were all day!" Vito made a wave at the van with the wrench in his hand. "The boss had me work on this damn thing 'cause he didn't know where you were!"

"Y-Yeah, I..." Harry tried to pretend that hadn't hurt. "...I wanted some fresh air. You...need help with it?"

"Nah, we've got it almost done..." Vito stopped and grabbed a bottle of beer. "You can take a look if you want."

Harry stepped closer, trying to focus on the van. "Where's the boss, anyway?"

Vito stopped mid-chug. "Hmm? Uh, he's in the bath. He's already called Boon in town, and we can head back in tomorrow."

Someone cheered again. Harry stared into the hood of the van, nodding approvingly. Vito had done a good job. It wasn't as if Harry was the only man in the gang who knew how to fix a car, it was that it wasn't a chore to him.

He jolted at the feeling of something cold against his face. Harry turned, finding Ox pressing a bottle of beer into his cheek. The larger man smirked, saying, "Why don't you go bring one to the boss?"

"S-S-Sure," Harry sputtered. "I'll b-be back soon."

Ox shouted at the other lackeys, "Which one of ya trashbags wants to help put things away?"

Harry left the garage, making the longest trek of his life through the hill place and up the hallway to the boss's bathroom. It was a cute little room with wavy cube glass, and with steps up to a raised tub – hell, he and the boss had even gotten busy in there more than twice – but in that moment, Harry would rather slither away into the factory crawlspace.

He reached the door and stood in front of it, rigid. He struggled to keep a grip on the beer, feeling like it would slip out of his clammy hand, while his other hand hung in the air, ready to knock.

Harry breathed in, then out, then screwed his eyes shut. He drove his knuckles into the door like he was fighting it off.

"Who's there?!" Skunk shouted within.

Harry tried to speak, only making little gasps for air until he was able to choke out, "M-Me!"

A pause. "Come in."

With jittery hands, Harry turned the knob and squirmed into the room, staring down at the floor so he wouldn't accidentally meet the boss's eyes. He closed the door with his elbow, and stood there, somber. He inhaled through clenched teeth and made himself look up.

Skunk sat in a newly-drawn bath, eyes bleary from booze as he stared back at Harry. His arm hung limply off the side of the tub, and his sickly blueish skin clashed against the Pepto Bismol pink tiles.

Harry forced himself to walk forward, feeling like he was locked on a track, and shakily set the beer bottle on the tub step.

Forcing a smile, Harry sputtered, "I b-b-brou...ght...?"

Skunk nodded stiffly. "Dismissed."

That was how the boss talked to entry level henchmen.

Still wearing the forced grin, Harry took a few steps back, trying to make an orderly path back to the door. He stumbled into the towel rack and screeched as it connected with his shoulder blade. He fell to his knees, gasping.

Wincing at the volume, Skunk turned, mumbling, "Harry..."

Harry half-screamed, "I didn't mean it!"

Skunk's eyes widened. He slid closer to the tub edge. "Harry?"

"You're such a fucking _dick_ but I didn't mean it," Harry wailed. "I'm sorry, boss! I just—!"

"Harry, c'mere—"

"I'm so sorry," Harry sobbed, crawling up the steps to the bathtub. He looked up, his face a mess of tears and mucus. He'd been holding it back all day and now he could hardly breathe. A bit panicked, Skunk reached out with wet arms and pulled the smaller man into a hug. Harry shook, wailing with sobs, while Skunk held onto him shyly.

"...I shouldn't have blown you off," Skunk said quietly.

Harry made a pained wheeze. He let his head fall against Skunk's shoulder as he cried, the warm tears running against Skunk's cold damp skin. Harry's clothes were getting wet and snotty and he didn't care. His mouth opened and closed as he struggled against what he was trying to say.

"I-I...!" He gasped. "I th-thought you'd k-kick me outta th-the gang-!"

"I thought you'd _quit_ the gang. Thought you were finally sick of me."

Harry looked up with a jolt, his big bewildered and teary brown eyes trying to meet Skunk's stare. He weakly shook his head as he sniffled, "I-I don't wanna go."

"...Kid, you're gonna make me cry too," Skunk tried to say with a laugh. But they both knew it was true. Skunk sighed and kept holding Harry against him, waiting for the smaller man's sobs to fade away. Time crash landed, and they sat there in silence, save for Harry's occasional sniffs and hiccups.

After some time, Skunk whispered as reassuringly as he could, "You wanna climb in?"

Harry nodded, blearily wiping his nose on his sleeve, before slipping just his shoes off. Skunk eased him into the tub, and the two lay tangled in the water. It was still hot and smelled of lavender. Skunk must have used one of the bath bombs Harry had been hoarding. Breathing in, Harry finally felt safe again, and sunk into Skunk's chest.

"I want you to be nicer to me," he mumbled.

Skunk nodded. "I'm gonna try, kid."

The bath water saturated his clothes, a slow and tickling kind of feeling, and Harry felt the stress from his body begin to finally fade away. He let his eyes close. He whispered, "It's just such a pain, like...like..."

"Mm?"

"When...you're...nice to me like this, I..." Harry sighed, letting the words tumble out. "...I feel like I might be in love with you."

Skunk, eyes now wide, looked down at Harry as if the younger man had just screamed. He asked, tense, "Is...is this a put-on?"

"N-No!" Harry gasped, squirming up to meet the boss's dark brown eyes.

The two of them looked at each other for a moment, trying to adjust to the new mood in the room. Skunk turned to the side, a nervous laugh escaping his throat, before he tried to relax against the back of the tub again. He knew he couldn't.

All of the good times they'd had together added up in Skunk's head, and he took it in, still in a daze. All the heists. The goofing around. The _fooling_ around. Why he always felt more comfortable and personable when Harry was at his side. Why they kept drifting back together, even after jail or different hide-outs split them up. Why he didn't want to fool around with anyone _but_ Harry. Skunk had started to realize what the heavy, oozy feeling in his chest that he'd always felt around Harry really was.

"It's okay if you don't, uh...y'know..." Harry trailed off, turning away too.

"It's not that, Hare. I just..." Skunk lay there stunned. "...So _this_ is what it's like?"

"Maybe not with us screaming down the house, boss." Harry paused. "But yeah."

"...This is one hell of a day," Skunk breathed. This made Harry laugh, and while Skunk hadn't meant the remark that way, he was just glad to hear Harry make happy noises again. He rubbed at the smaller man's upper back, grateful.

"...So you wanna stay in the gang?"

Harry looked up shyly. "Yeah."

"Good. I'd miss you if you left."

Silence again. Harry sighed, finally asking, "What do we do now?"

"We just be ourselves, kid." Skunk shrugged. "I go easier on you, and you keep working for me. We'll take it as it goes."

"I just can't believe we've been doing it for so long and nobody said it."

"I vaguely remember saying "I love you", but I think we were drunk. And probably in the back of the old van."

"God, that's probably the most "ourselves" we could be, huh?"

Skunk snorted laughing. He smirked, "Yeah, I guess, huh?"


	4. Firing Lines

Marukabi Boon was another one of the “crime oldheads”, as Harry had taken to calling them. Boon's group wasn't too far off from Skunk's gang in terms of style, but neither organization was at odds; Metro City was probably thankful for that. Boon was a bear-like, distinct-looking man with slick black hair, and eyelashes that almost looked too fancy to belong to a criminal.

“I used to be told over and over again how my lashes were “wasted on a boy”...” Boon grunted, looking around the table. “The hell's that supposed to mean? They've got a damn function. Plus women love 'em.”

Boon had brought Skunk and some of their “employees” out to an evening pub crawl. They sat in clusters throughout Rocky's Bar, with the serving staff drowning in tips. The one trade-off with going to Rocky's was the restriction against smoking indoors, which Skunk found more than fair, considering it was one of the rare bars that wouldn't call the cops if sixty criminals came in. Boon and Skunk had delegated themselves to the far corner.

“They're meant to keep sand out of your damn eyes,” hissed Ben Heck, Boon's right-hand man. “I never got that whole pretty thing. It's not like you're usin' mascara.”

Boon dabbed sweat off his forehead with a small handkerchief, and then slipped it back into his breast pocket. He reached for his beer, continuing, “It's like all the people who ain't “pretty” wound up in the underworld here, eh?”

“I got into this business because I love it,” Skunk said proudly. “My parents were in big gangs, and I just grew right into it.”

“What about you, eh, Pilat?” Boon asked with a nod towards Harry. Skunk looked over to check on the smaller man, finding him absentmindedly carving his initials into the table edge. Skunk gave him a light nudge, and Harry sat up with a jolt.

“I! Uh! I, I guess I just find it kinda fun,” Harry shrugged. Boon took a drink and nodded, accepting the answer. They'd met plenty of times before, but Harry always found himself too nervy to try and talk to Boon.

“We must be the lucky ones...” Boon took a quick drink. “...There's a lot of people in this business who _don't_ like it.”

Someone across the room was loudly ordering wings, and Boon considered doing the same. His mouth felt muggy. One hand dipped into his blazer pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes.

“Anybody else want to step out with me?”

“I will,” Skunk said as he rose from his seat. Before he headed off, he turned to Harry and dropped a hand onto the younger man's head. He murmured, “If they catch you carving that, it's coming out of _your_ pocket.”

Harry hurriedly folded the switchblade back together. Boon and Skunk were out in the alley by the time he managed to get it into his pocket.

Out in the alley, the two were silent, but it felt like total peace. The only other sounds were the occasional roar of a car on the main street or the muffled thumping of a nightclub's Saturday playlist. Boon was enjoying the silence, but not the gnawing feeling in his stomach of what he wanted to say. He seized the moment and loudly cleared his throat.

He declared, “It's a bad idea, you know.”

“...No I don't,” Skunk grunted around his cigarette. “What are you talking about?”

“Having an affair with your henchman.”

“Oh.” He hastily looked away.

“You ain't supposed to get too attached in this business...” Boon trailed off, trying to see if the loud noise in the bar was a laugh or a scream. After a moment, he continued, “Like, at least pull him out of the on-hand squad so he doesn't get killed. It's basic practice. Dealers don't take from their supply, pimps don't marry their girls, and no boss gets friendly with his--”

“Boon,” Skunk groaned. “I don't wanna discuss this.”

“I'm just worried as a friend, Kusai...” Boon flicked the remainder of his cigarette away, satisfied to see it land in the centre of a puddle. “Look at that. A perfect dive.”

Skunk didn't respond. He remained leaning against the brick exterior, his posture skewed just enough to turn him away from Boon. The stress had passed from Boon into Skunk in under a minute.

Boon cocked his head. “Are you okay?”

“I _was_ until thirty seconds ago!” Skunk spat.

“I'm just looking out for you!”

“Do you grill Lamp and Hamegg 'bout this kinda thing, too?!”

“Ham and Ace are crime _partners_ ,” Boon dictated. “They're on an equal level. They know exactly what they're doing and what the risks are.”

Skunk only stared back at Boon, his pale face wearing a mix of dismay and disgust.

“Pilat's a nice kid,” Boon continued. “But don't put him on the firing line.”

“What, you think I'm bad at managin' my gang?”

“Nah, I just don't want to see you get hurt--”

“He insists I treat him like the rest of the gang.” Skunk hurriedly let the words rush forth. “He likes working with the guys. The kid's even been in jail _three times_ because he won't leave the rest of my men. I've thought about this plenty times, Boon. You think it doesn't drive me nuts?!”

“Hey, I'm not doubting you,” Boon calmly replied. “I shouldn't have dug into you like that, buddy.”

“I'm just tryin' to have a good time tonight, Boon,” Skunk complained, an edge of begging in his voice. Boon nodded solemnly and slipped his hands into his pockets.

“I gotcha, Skunk. Sorry.”

Boon could be soothing when he needed to be. He was tense with a cooled edge, and cool with a tense edge, one of the other depending on where he was. It was this levelheadedness that almost always put Skunk at ease. Skunk turned away from spat out the end of his cigarette. It landed pathetically on the pavement, gently fuming, and Skunk stomped on it until it was out. He felt like he was putting it out of his misery.

“You should've aimed for the puddle,” Boon said with a laugh. The noise of water killing flame was a satisfying one, but grinding a cigarette out was more fulfilling for Skunk. The alcohol seemed to be getting to him in a bad way. Everything around him felt amplified and deeper than it normally was.

The two bosses wordlessly reentered the bar. The atmosphere was still jovial, and Ben and Harry had joined one of the larger tables in the centre of the bar. They and at least ten other men were loudly and passionately discussing something.

Boon grabbed his beer off his table and called out, “What's up, fellas?”

“They're talkin' 'bout how they wanna go,” Ben replied.

“Go where?”

“Like, go, from livin''.” Ben ran a finger across his neck. “Y'know, gettin' kacked and whatnot.”

“Bunch of freaks,” Boon grumbled. “I'm gonna order some wings.”

Skunk pulled up a chair at a smaller table, saying, “Get the big platter. I'll pay the difference.”

Boon strolled away from the group, leaving Skunk to witness the table. There was a bizarrely mirthful mood around the men as they listened to an over-excited Ox.

“Mine's kinda weird, but...” The large man chuckled with embarrassment. “If I've gotta go, I wanna have a girl sittin' on my face. Wide hips, chunky. Best kind of broad. Maybe she snaps my neck by accident or I have a stroke.”

“G-Goddamn!” cackled one of Boon's guys.

“I don't have plans to go anytime soon, though...” Ox took a smug drink of his beer. Harry was seated beside him, and the younger man nodded in enthusiastic agreement. The flush in his face showed just how much he'd drunk that night.

To the rest of the table, Harry said, “Yeah, I still have a bunch of stuff I wanna do, but like...”

 _I do_ _ **not**_ _need this right fuckin' now,_ Skunk said to himself.

“...I wanna be driving a _fantastic_ car. Maybe I'll get into some sort of crazy accident,” Harry declared, waving his hands in the shape of an explosion. “One that'd get on the news, you know?”

“Yeah, a showoffy one,” Ox nodded. “Make the papers go, “Check out this fucker with his amazing car! The fuck did _you_ do today?”

“It'd beat dying crusty and immobile in some moldy bed,” Harry chortled.

Skunk felt disgust pool in his chest, and he stood up from his table so fast that he almost knocked his chair over. His new plan was to marinate in booze until he wouldn't worry for the rest of the night.

••••••••••••

  
After some hours of schmoozing, and a private taxi ride home, Skunk managed to get himself up to his room without falling down the stairs. He made it into his small utility bathroom, changed, wiped the layer of tacky sweat from his face, and shaved. Upon exiting, he found a tipsy and cheerful Harry sitting on his bed, clad in pajama pants and one of Skunk's old dress shirts.

“Heh...” Skunk sauntered over to the bed. “Sorry, Hare, but it's not gettin' up tonight.”

“I had a feeling...” Harry looked blissfully to the floor. “But I just wanna stay with you tonight.”

“All right, kid. Move over.”

They lay side by side for a few minutes, either one debating internally on making a move. It was Skunk who finally broke the ice and slunk a hand along Harry's outline. The younger man shivered at the sensation and moved closer to his boss.

They kissed, slow and easy, fingers carefully tugging and rubbing at each others' bodies. There was no rush towards sex, rather, just the pure enjoyment of sensation. Skunk kissed Harry deeply and ran a hand up and down Harry's thigh, stopping occasionally to grope the softness of the young man's chubby legs. Harry forced himself to pull back from Skunk's lips, gasping for air, dewy eyes staring excitedly into Skunk's. His boss had soothing deep brown eyes, the colour of which reminded Harry of dusty beer bottles, like the ones that littered the back alley and seemed to glow in the evening sun. Harry's lower lip trembled, and with a pleading moan, he grabbed Skunk by the sides of his face and sunk into another deep kiss. His stubby tan fingers ran through his boss's hair, caressing it.

“Fuck,” Skunk groaned into Harry's mouth. The smaller man's breath had quickened, and his face felt hot. Skunk internally cursed his latest affliction of Whiskey Dick, and let his gropes on Harry's legs move inward, searching expectantly for a sign of hardness; he could at least help Harry out if he got too riled up. The fingertips sliding into Harry's lap made him shiver, hard.

He pulled back from Skunk and sighed, “I love you.”

Skunk's sudden physical rigidness was more noticeable than he liked. Harry moved back further, his face becoming deeply worried.

“B-Boss, sorry,” he whispered. “I sh-shouldn't have--”

“Kid, kid, you didn't do anything wrong, it's...” Skunk sat up. His head was pounding, and he desperately rubbed at his temples. A now embarrassed Harry burrowed under the blankets.

“I...I know I shouldn't try anything heavy.”

“Hare, it's not like you've done anything wrong...”

Harry looked away; he looked like he was about to break into tears. Something seemed to switch off inside Skunk and he found himself unable to hold back his thoughts.

“I'm _scared_! Fuck! I'm afraid of you lettin' you get too deep! What if you get shot, killed, or just plain fucked up?! We're supposed to be working in a _mob_! I've been tryin' to let you keep working with the rest of the gang, but it drives me  nuts! I've lost a few guys before, and I _can't_ go through that again, especially when I think I _lo_ \--”

Skunk froze. He could feel a stupid look blossom on his face, and Harry's big eyes were fastened on it. A now frustrated Skunk quickly shoved himself under the blankets and rolled onto his other side. With a gentle hum, Harry slid closer, softly setting his hands on his boss's back.

Defeated, Skunk groaned, “What am I supposed to _do_ with you, kid...?”

He focused on breathing deeply, knowing it'd give himself plenty of time to get any further words together. Harry, in the meantime, stared idly at his boss's back, letting his fingers run up and down Skunk's shoulder blades. Skunk shivered pleasantly from the sensation.

“I...” Harry whispered. “...I'm not gonna die with a boss like you.”

The muscles under his hands softened.

Eyes fluttering, Harry continued, “Y-You're the best in the country. You don't, like, use us like cattle. I...I actually trust you.”

Skunk rolled over. His face was concerned, maybe a bit scared, maybe a bit flattered. His eyes were wide as he asked, “...Really?”

“Most of the time.” Harry smirked and pointed to his cheek, the same one Skunk had slapped about a week prior. “Y'know.”

“You little shit...” Skunk drawled, affectionate, and he hugged Harry against him. Harry sunk into his boss's chest with a content sigh.

“I don't wanna quit, either...” Harry whispered. “I like it here.”

“Mm.” Skunk let a hand wander to Harry's hair, and ran his fingers through it, mirroring what he'd done for Skunk before. “Just don't die on me. Or I'll bring you back as a ghost and give you shit.”

Harry snorted laughing, and snuggled his cheek against Skunk's chest. His sigh almost sounded like a gentle coo. Harry was hardly the best-looking guy around, but his presence was always so soft and comforting. Softness was something Skunk didn't really get to experience too much. He ran a hand over the side of Harry's chubby tan face, admiring it.

“We're gonna be fine,” Harry sighed again. “If I survived all the stuff we've already been through, then I'm gonna live a long life.”

Skunk let the words sink into him. He took the idea in with a deep breath in, trying to let himself calm down enough to get to sleep. He still felt scared, but it seemed to be slowly fading away now; he wondered if the booze had just put him in a weird state of mind.

He suddenly realized that the small drunk against his chest seemed to be shaking, sending little tremors through his arms, and Skunk looked down in horror. Horror melted away to annoyance upon seeing Harry's grin.

“You _do_ love me,” the smaller man giggled.

“Don't scare me! I thought you were crying!”

“You've been worrying about me...!” Harry wrapped his arms tight around Skunk's chest. “Oh, Skunk...!”

“Yeah, yeah...” Skunk felt heat run to his face. He toyed quietly with Harry's hair, hoping the vulnerable feeling would pass soon enough. He just wasn't used to being so open. At least something about it felt good.

“So my rank,” Harry whispered against Skunk's chest. “Is still henchman, but with special access?”

“Sounds about right...” Skunk started to relax, but paused. “I...I hope we're still buddies, though.”

“O-Of course!”

“Good, I'm not really up for being boyfriend-ey.”

Harry sighed sleepily. “We're buddies, but I take your orders, and sometimes we grab each other's junk.”

“Hey, hey, don't get too overzealous,” Skunk laughed, albeit tired. “That's my job.”

“Okay...!”

They lay there, tangled together, to the soundtrack of their soft and mismatched breathing. For the first time in a long while, Skunk was the first to fall asleep. His fingers remained laced in Harry's soft brown hair, and the younger man didn't mind at all. With a sigh, he hugged Skunk in closer, finally feeling a bit more at peace.


End file.
